


Beast of Burden

by cinemastories



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Sex for Money, pornstar AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinemastories/pseuds/cinemastories
Summary: in which Howard is a straight guy lookin to make some money and Vince is the camera guy/producer in charge of making that happen
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Beast of Burden

“Dammit, someone didn’t replace the memory card,” the yankee director mutters from behind the camera, switching back-and-forth between looking through the lens and inspecting the side monitor.

Tall dual light fixtures flicker on at the end of the starchy queen-sized hotel bed. They are much brighter and hotter than he imagined them being, but he understands the reasoning for it all the same. It’s sort of like a television set and, as a serious and refined actor, he should know about and tolerate these things. He cringes at the thought of what this little desperate venture for money might do to his acting career. The short, chubby American director helping set up the camera shakes his balding, pale head.

“Yeah, don’t make that face when we’re rollin,’ okay mister…” he trails off for clarification.

“Erm, Howard,” he rushed a bit awkwardly, sitting up straighter on the bed and crossing his fingers in his lap, “Howard Moon.”

The man nods approvingly, “Nice screen name, pal.”

Howard opens his mouth to correct him but thinks better of it. Should he have come up with some kind of persona before coming here?

“I’m Bob Fossil,” the man says, coming out from behind the camera to let the other person in the room take over. He reaches out and shakes Howard’s hand, “We exchanged fake space letters?”

Howard blinks, suddenly hoping that the water bottle he brought in was not drugged and making him delusional. He cups a hand behind his ear, “Sorry?”

Bob Fossil frowns, “You know, fake space letters? On the internet box?”

“I think you mean email, Bob,” remarks the camera operator cheekily. 

Howard’s ears prick at that voice. He looks beyond the lights to make out a thin, dark-haired androgynous man with a fringe, arched nose, and light colored eyes. Howard can pick out a smug grin that rounds out his otherwise pointed features. Fossil rolls his eyes.

“Sure, email, whatever. Anyway, I understand you’ve got all the paperwork out of the way and that you tested clean, yer all showered up,” Bob notes, examining a black, plastic clipboard like a surgeon checking a patient’s record, “My associate Vince Noir here—

Bob gestures to the camera operator who looks back up and nods at Howard, “Alright.”

Howard waves back and Bob continues, clearly trying to hurry along, “ —is going to stick around and direct this film. I have some other shoots to get to that have a lot more going on. I’m thirty minutes late on meeting the bulk lube guy anyway. You got it from here, Vince?”

Vince just gives him a thumbs up and continues adjusting the camera. Howard feels a little inferior at the thought of being the least exciting pornographic film shoot this man has to get to. Bob turns to Howard.

“Are you cool?”

Howard starts, “Well, actually—

“Perfect, have a good time, fellas,” he rushes, talking as he walks out the door, “Vince has enough on him to pay you afterwards but if you go over his spending limit, just talk to my assistant. So long!”

Howard tries to process what Bob just said. What spending limit? Over email, they worked out a solid flat rate of €500 for erm— _solo_ work. He swallows hard, the blazing lights making him regret his outfit decision of a cream while roll neck and finely corded chocolate corduroy slacks. He tugs at the collar when the cameraman decides to flick off one of the lights. Howard sighs with relief and gets a better look at the man with the glare less bright. His fringed hair bounces as he leans down to grab a softbox to fit over the remaining light, which distills the remaining harsh yellow glare into a diffused, more ambient glow that lights the room more completely. 

“Alright then,” the cameraman — Vince is it? — chirps as he turns to look at Howard, “Better now, innit?”

Howard nods, taking in more of the man’s eccentricities which become more and more prominent the longer he looks at him. Vince wears smudged, ashen eyeliner along his lower lid and sports nails painted black. His loud clothing clings to him as though painted directly onto his skin; a pair of dark blue drainpipes accessorised with a studded pink belt which he wears not through the loops, but sagging against his hip. His striped shirt of pale green and white is too short and rides up anytime he moves, revealing strips of creamy skin. On his feet are a pair of shimmering silver cowboy boots. Vince stays purposely out of the peripheral view of the camera just behind the line of the light fixture. He leans over and presses what Howard assumes is the recording button as a red light turns on just above the lens, but Vince stays where he stands.

“They usually edit out a load of the first bit of the footage, so you don’t need to worry, but you just gotta tell me — are you _really_ straight? Cos you’re layin’ on the act pretty thick,” Vince inquires with an amused smirk.

Howard adjusts his seat on the floral duvet, puffing up with indignation. “What do you mean?”

Vince shrugs, putting his hands — miraculously, as tights as those drainpipes are — into his pockets, “Well, s’obvious, yeah? You’ve got the borderline aggressive corduroy-roll neck combo, the mustache, that _hair_! It’s like you’re trying to win a heterosexuality contest!”

He doesn’t know what it is about this comment that makes him feel offended, but he is. Howard frowns, unsure if he’s getting the piss taken out of him. He narrows his eyes at Vince.

“Yes, I am one-hundred percent _straight_ , sir,” he replies haughtily, “While I am a very gifted actor, this is not an ‘act,’ as you liked to put it.”

Vince quirks an eyebrow, but his cheeky grin doesn’t leave, “Is that right? Well, do pardon me mister…”

“Howard Moon,” Howard replies snippily.

Vince nods languidly, “Right, right. Good stage name. So, Howard Moon, what are you doing here?”

He turns around and snakes his way past the light to stand behind the camera and adjust the frame while Howard — whose mouth has become increasingly dry as the reality of the situation solidifies itself into salience — replies, “Well, to be frank with you, I’m behind on a few bills at the moment. I’m an adventurous sort of man, so when I came across this offer I thought: ‘Alright, we’ll give it a go. Pays a helluva more than a sperm bank would anyhow.’”

Vince laughs and proceeds, “Alright then, take your clothes off. Down to the knickers if you might.”

Howard’s cheeks color at his pants being referred to as “knickers.” He stands up from the bed and Vince follows his movement with the camera. He starts with his loafers and belt, which he slides out of the loops and places on the bed. Next, he tugs the cream roll neck over his head from the bottom. He attempts to fold the shirt for a moment out of habit, but realises the futility of the task and tosses it to the floor in a clump. This earns a laugh from Vince, which makes Howard feel strangely at ease. He pushes the corduroys down unceremoniously and steps out of them. After a second’s deliberation, he removes his socks as well. He straightens up, now clad in his plain grey pants. 

“Onto the bed, then. Off you pop,” Vince says coaxingly, still watching Howard through the camera and following his movements. 

Howard climbs back into the bed a bit awkwardly and sits in the middle, straight-backed against the pillow. Vince seems to deem this spot as good enough to rest the camera on and fastens it into the tripod once again. Howard runs his hands up and down his bare thighs due to the nerves. Vince comes around from the camera again and stands in the spot just behind its peripheral. 

“So, catching up on bills, eh? You really think five-hundred euro would cover it all?” Vince inquires with a teasing lilt, giving Howard a toothy smirk.

Howard swallows hard, “Well, it is what we negotiated…”

Vince hooks his thumbs through his pant loops and gives him a shrug, looking impossibly calm and cool while Howard feels smothered. “Sure,” starts Vince, “but we’re more than willing to work something out, as you heard.”

He pauses to let Howard chew on the offer. Vince leans back to check the monitor and says noncommittally: “Right, shall we get started then? Off they go.”

Howard extrapolates that “they” is referring to his pants. Hesitation gives his large, yet almost imperceptibly trembling hands pause as they go to the waistband. Is this worth it? Is letting this tightly-clad tart film him something he should really be doing? Vince breaks into these anxious thoughts.

“Right, I should have asked already! D’you want some porn to watch?” he inquires like it’s the most casual question in the world, “We’ve got loads, mate, so you don’t gotta be ashamed. Just pick your poison.”

This merely heightens Howard’s embarrassment with the entire situation and he shakes his head adamantly. “No, no,” he rushes, laughing a bit nervously, “No need for any of that, erm… Maybe some music?”

Vince looks a little surprised, but nods admiringly, “Alright then. Old school, I like it.”

Howard abandons a fleeting thought of what else Vince might like and watches as Vince rummages behind one of the lights. There must be a boombox back there because Vince has flicked something on that is floats jazz music over to him. Howard feels instantly a little more relaxed and closes his eyes peacefully for a moment before Vince makes a fake-retching sound and turns the dial.

“Eugh! I hate jazz,” Vince spits, tuning the radio and trying to find something suitable to his tastes through the static.

Howard rolls his eyes, a bit miffed. Luckily, it seems as though Vince isn’t having any success finding something he wants either. Vince switches something on the boombox and turns the radio off. Howard can hear him rustle through something else, then a small click, and then he hears bright, scooping guitar of an old Rolling Stones song. Howard shrugs; it’s neutral enough in his mind, classic rock is. Vince returns to his spot near-yet-behind the camera looking awfully proud of himself.

“I made a mix CD, I did,” he boasts, tapping his temple keenly, “Good thing, too. Nothin’ less sexy than Jazz, eh Howard?”

Howard doesn’t even dignify that comment with a chuckle. Vince clears his throat, “Right, well, ready when you are. Go on then.”

Howard licks his lips and steels himself. He’s a man of action and greatness; a brave man with nothing to be afraid of. The pants come off and join the rest of his ensemble on the floor. Closing his eyes, Howard begins to touch himself as Mick Jagger sings to him: _Am I hard enough? Am I rough enough? Am I rich enough?_ Quite good singer, that Mick. Howard focuses on the music and the heat pooling in his groin as he slowly stiffens under his own hand. He grunts softly, which for some reason reminds him of Vince’s presence. Howard opens his eyes; Vince is watching him. Howard fondles his balls, sighing.

“S’good, yeah Howard?” asks Vince.

Howard nods, grunting as a short wave of pleasure rolls through his gut. 

“Good,” coos Vince, watching carefully and waiting to speak again until Howard is fully erect, “I’ll give you another hundred euro if you put your fingers up your bum.”

Vince almost says it like a joke, but Howard knows the offer is genuine. His eyes go wide and his stomach twists, “Put _what?_ ”

“Put your fingers in your—

“I know what you said,” Howard interrupts quickly, his hand stilling, “How am I expected to do that?”

Vince smiles at Howard like he’s the simplest person on the planet, “C’mon Howard, we’ve got lube here! Y’just put some on your fingers and get after it!”

Howard is sure that his face is impossibly red. Another €100 would really do some good, though. He narrows his eyes at Vince and resumes stroking himself.

“Two-hundred,” Howard barters.

“Deal,” Vince replies quickly, reaching back behind the lights and procuring a small bottle of lubricant which he tosses onto the pillow next to Howard.

Howard rolls his eyes, but feels triumphant at his securing of another two-hundred euro. He gives himself a little while longer to simply wank off and procrastinate the inevitable before he reaches over to take hold of the little bottle. He must look as unsure as he feels because Vince speaks up.

“You’ll want to put some on your arse _and_ your mitts,” he says as though hinting to a child the conclusion of 2 + 2. 

Biting back the urge to retort somehow at that smug look on Vince’s face, Howard instead follows his directions. He pumps some clear, unscented lube onto three fingers, finds a comfortable position with his legs spread, and smears the lube across his arse. He applies more lube onto his middle finger and moves it down to slowly coax himself open. The sensation is foreign and obtrusive, but not altogether unpleasant; he gets the entire finger in without an issue.

“I’ll throw in another fifty euros for every finger you add,” Vince speaks up from behind the camera.

Howard wonders dimly when it was that Vince returned to his position behind the camera. He considers the offer while working his finger in-and-out of himself in sync with his stroking. A moan slips out of his mouth faster than he can choke it back when his finger gets as far back has he can get it. Adding another seems reasonable at this juncture. He reaches for the bottle of lubricant once more after letting himself adjust a few more moments. Howard adds more of the slippery fluid to his digits and directly to his entrance. Getting the second finger in is a bit more of a feat and dull pain radiates through his bum as he gets the two of them about halfway in. The focus on going slowly coupled with the minor, yet persistent pain softens his cock a bit. Howard breathes hard as he strokes himself and takes two fingers in his arse all the way to the knuckles.

“Try curling your fingers,” Vince instructs. Howard quirks an eyebrow suspiciously (has he even got the space in there to move his fingers that much?) but Vince gestures at him, “C’mon, then, you’ll like it.”

He deliberates for a moment before deciding no harm can come from trying and curls his fingers within himself. The feeling is not bad, but not so pleasurable that it would warrant recommendation. Howard tries again a few more times, alternating his angle and the motion of how he moves his fingers before he finally gets it. His fingers brush up against what he assumes is his prostate, given he has more than an elementary knowledge of the human body. The feeling sends a shockwave of pleasure shimmering through his body and makes him tighten his grip on his cock a little harder with a deep groan. That was definitely worth recommending someone. Howard goes at himself for a little while longer, feeling open and messy as he sighs and moans with abandon. 

Then he recalls the option for another fifty euro given the inclusion of a third finger. Howard barely gives it a thought before taking his hand off of his cock and grabbing the bottle of lube again to repeat the process of slicking himself up and slowly working a third finger in. The pain this time is more sharp and pronounced, but is also quick and subsides as he works it in. Howard feels hot all over and briefly ponders asking Vince to crack a window before another wave of pleasure surges through him and his request subsides to a moan. He doesn’t even move the three fingers in his arse, just enjoys the feeling of fullness as he strokes his cock to its previously full hardness with his eyes closed. Howard stays like this until Vince speaks up again.

“You’re doing very good, Howard. Five-hundred euro if you let me suck you off.”

Howard totally stills his movements, his eyes flying open to meet Vince’s. Vince has come back around from his spot behind the camera and is standing in his favored position just out of frame. He looks almost amused, leaning his weight on a hip and appraising Howard’s indecent pose with a slow rake of his gaze. Howard notices that he always smiles with his teeth; he shakes this observation off to consider the proposal and slowly takes his fingers out of himself.

“N-No I don’t believe I—

Vince clicks his tongue, “Too bad! Hmm… don’t suppose I could convince you by making it eight-hundred?”

Howards mouth goes dry. He becomes aware of the music in the room again as George Harrison croons: _Something in her smile she knows / That I don’t need no other lover._ He’s already racked up nearly €800, doubling that is a seriously tempting offer. Then, all at once, Howard is overcome with the urge to laugh. Never in a million years would he turn down a _free_ blowjob from a woman, so why should he reject a blowjob that he was being paid to receive. Besides this Vince fellow was well fitter than some of the girls he’s shagged in the past. Why, with that long black hair, if Howard squinted his eyes Vince looked quite like a woman. 

He clears his throat hard before speaking, “Well, alright then.”

Vince’s face lights up at that and he leans back to check the monitor once more. Howard adjusts awkwardly on the bed, scooting down to lean his head on a propped pillow. Vince walks around from the lights and into the frame of the camera on the right side of the bed where he takes his silver shoes off before crawling onto the bedding and over to Howard.

He expects somewhat of a preamble, but Vince just reaches out and strokes his cock with ease. Howard’s breath hitches as the metal of Vince’s silver rings slide over the sensitive skin. He can’t help looking at Vince, especially now that he’s so close; now he can see the subtle dusting of stubble on his jaw and some residual glitter stuck to his scalp. Just as he recognizes the scent of flowery hairspray before Vince ducks into Howard’s lap, lays down on his stomach with his elbows propping him up, and drags his tongue along the shaft of his cock from base to tip. Howard’s less-lubed left hand shoots to Vince’s hair as Vince swirls his tongue around the head. Howard gulps and closes his eyes, moaning breathily as Vince takes him into his mouth. It’s a hot, damp sensation which he is able to fully enjoy due to Vince’s expert technique of keeping his teeth out of the equation. Vince seems like he’s enjoying himself too as he hums pleasantly onto Howard’s cock everytime he takes him all the way to the back of his throat. 

Vince takes his mouth off of Howard with a pop, stroking him as he speaks with a more hoarse voice than earlier, “I’ll throw in another four-hundred if you let me put my fingers in you.”

Howard groans at the suggestion and just nods fervently, not having the capacity to do much more with his mouth than curse and cry out. Vince reaches across to Howard’s other side and grabs with bottle of lube before applying some directly to his fingers. Vince leans down again and takes Howard into his mouth as he slowly fills his arse with two digits. Though he has shorter fingers than Howard’s, Vince has a vantage point and is able to press further into Howard than he was previously able to do to himself. He finds Howard’s prostate with ease and gives him a firm, dragging come-hither motion across the gland as he bobs his head on Howard’s cock.

With that, Howard practically sees stars. He tightens his grip on Vince’s hair, which grants him the surprise of making Vince moan onto his cock. Howard can’t help rocking his hips clumsily down against Vince’s fingers and up into his mouth. He pants out incoherent praises, opening his half-lidded eyes to watch Vince as he deftly strokes himself. Howard wonders distantly how Vince managed to get his zipper down and his cock out without Howard noticing, but the thought is promptly ejected from his mind as Vince’s fingers suddenly pick up speed and his sucking suddenly becomes harder and more focused around the head. Howard lets out a hard, scratchy moan as Vince grazes his prostate over and over. Howard bucks his hips wildly, trying to get as much of Vince’s fingers inside of him as possible while also trying to feel his cock at the back of Vince’s throat. He is close but struggles to find the words to warn Vince. It seems he already knows, however, as he just allows Howard to have his way with his mouth and continues fingering him with abandon. 

Howard’s orgasm is intense. He holds Vince’s head down in his lap as he comes in his mouth with a loud moan that catches in his throat for several seconds before spilling out of him as a rough, carnal sound. He lets up his hold on Vince’s head as Vince removes his fingers from Howard’s arse. Then, Vince takes Howard by total surprise by kissing him. It’s not a polite kiss by any means; there’s a lot of tongue and lip-biting, but Vince still keeps a tender hand on Howard’s cheek. They part from one another panting and Howard just stares at Vince in an orgasmic daze. Vince offers him another toothy smile and kisses his temple before tucking himself back into his drainpipes. He must have got himself off in the midst of pleasuring Howard. Vince crawls off of the bed and around the lights to rifle through his bag one more time. He comes back to Howard holding a grand total of €2000. Vince winks at him as he hands it over to Howard.

“Pleasure doing business, Mr. Moon,” he says cheekily.

Howard gives him an awkward thanks and takes the money, feeling a little strange about the whole transaction now that the shoot is over. Vince walks back around to the camera and stops the recording. He makes sure the film recorded alight before shutting the camera down, tossing Howard a small rag, and beginning to disassemble the set. Howard cleans himself off before he gets off of the bed and puts his clothes back on, cheeks still slightly colored as he does so. It takes Vince very little time to get everything packed up, proving to Howard just how expert Vince really was at this whole thing. He put the money in his pocket and, though he knew he was €2000 richer, he felt a bit used. He finished dressing and stood with Vince in the now plain-looking hotel room, despite the mussed up sheets. 

“You can go on ahead. Gotta stay until check out at 4 o’clock,” Vince says with a nonchalant shrug and the same easy-going smile. 

“Right,” Howard says, suddenly feeling thick for lingering, “Well, I’ll be off.”

Howard turns on his heel and makes his way for the door before Vince speaks again, “Oh, hang on a second!”

Howard turns around as Vince hurries over to the stationary pad next to the hotel telephone. Vince scrawls something out and rips the sheet out of the pad to fold it before scurrying over to Howard and handing it over him. Howard takes the sheet of paper, somewhat confused.

“What’s this?”

“My number,” Vince says brightly, “Gimme a ring when you get to where you’re going.”

Howard’s face reddens and he looks down at the paper, “I— um… Yes, okay. Sure.”

Vince smiles at him before reaching out and opening the door for Howard, “Bye, then.” 

Howard is almost surprised; somehow he expected Vince to ask him to stick around for some reason. But at least he had a way to phone him. He smiled back at Vince, putting the number in his pocket.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Vince.”


End file.
